


Three Times that Kent Davison was a Cunning Linguist

by kethni



Category: Veep
Genre: F/M, PWP, Shorts, request fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three little scenes based on a common theme. There’s no continuity between them. They’re pretty much little stories huddling together against the big scary universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Times that Kent Davison was a Cunning Linguist

**Author's Note:**

> The fic request was - Selina’s (a woman exactly my age is having her p*ssy eaten) so needs to be written! 
> 
> I hope this hits the spot, so to speak ;)

Kneeling at the Altar

That fucking _prick_! I’d like to shove him on a raft and push _him_ out onto a goddamn river. With Andrew! The bloodsucking parasites aren’t supposed to be in the boat or waiting on the shore. Jesus. I expect bullshit from Andrew. Oily fucking creep is always only too happy to ‘help’ out by campaigning. Yeah, right. Then he runs off and tells his ‘clients’ ie marks, that he’s got an in with a senator. If we win this thing he’ll be doing the same but charging more for being close to the VP.

Fucking men.

A bath is what I need. Showers are for getting clean. Baths are for relaxing. I need to get some kinks out of my back before they take up damn residence there.

The masseuse is booked for nine. It’s barely eight. I’ve only just got in the bath. I should just stay here. Yell at them later.

Jesus, she’s gonna bust the door down. Okay, fine. I’ll drag myself out of my warm bath, wrap a towel around, and answer the door. I tell you, nobody is gonna try to disturb my bath when I’m the vice-president.

‘Oh shit! You’re supposed to be my masseuse!’

Davison looked at me with that stupid, blank robot face. ‘I am?’

Shit. Shit. Shit. Wrapped in a towel. Soaking wet. Exactly how I would never want this fucker to see me.

‘What do you want?’

Did he… did he just check me out? Did he just look at my goddamn tits? They’re fucking _awesome_ tits but they’re not for this fucker to look at. I’m in a goddamn towel, for fucks sake. It’s not like I chose to shove them up in his face.

‘Senator Hughes asked me to discuss these polling figures with you.’

‘Now? Do I look ready to discuss your meaningless bullshit?’

His moustache twitched. Was the fucker smirking?

‘I can see that,’ he said.

‘Don’t stare at me you fucking pervert!’

Poking him in the chest made me feel like a moody kid, but it pushed him back. Hey, look, the robot is kinda, sorta, slightly embarrassed.

‘I… I wasn’t.’

‘Yeah, ya were. Don’t lie on top of everything else.’

That told him. Look at him pretending to check his papers. Ha!

‘Well, don’t stand around. Come in. Gimmie whatever BS Hughes wants to shove my way and then get the hell out.’

‘Ma’am.’

I walked into the room and picked up my nightie. ‘I’m gonna get changed. I don’t want ya leering at… what’s with your face? Ya never saw a hotel room before?’

Who’d have thought that was an emotion programmed into his CPU?

He was pointing at the back of his neck. ‘Ma’am you have a… a…’

‘A what?’

‘A… a tick,’ he said.

‘What? No I don’t!’

His face was a fucking agony. ‘I assure you, Ma’am, that you have a large…’

‘Get it off! Get it off!’

‘If you’ll stop spinning…’

‘Do something! Get it off! Do something you useless piece of shit!’

Fuck! Fuck! That fucking bastard! He threw me on the bed! He threw me face down on the goddamn bed!

‘Get off me!’

‘A moment,’ he said. Like it was fucking nothing.

‘Get off me you fucking elephant!’

His fingertips brushed against my neck. Lifting up my hair.

‘Here we go,’ he murmurs. ‘This won’t take a moment.’

‘Ow!’

‘Don’t be a baby.’

I slammed my fists backwards, trying to punch his legs. ‘Don’t be a _baby_? Some fucking prick threw me on a bed, straddled me, pinned me down in a _perfect_ position to rape me, all in the excuse of removing a tick he claims to have seen, and when I complain I’m a baby?’

His weight suddenly lifted. The air hit my bare skin. I turned my head. My towel had fallen off when he swung me around.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

‘Look at this,’ he said sharply.

‘Fuck off. I’m not moving until you leave or I have some clothes on.’

‘Just lift your head,’ he demanded.

I looked up. In a pair of tweezers, he had a big, fat, squirmy tick.

‘Don’t stand there waving that thing at me!’

He stomped into the bathroom. I heard him rattling glasses as I pulled on my nightie.

‘What’re you doing in there?

He came out with a glass. He’d used a rubber band to secure a tissue at the top. The bastard bloodsucker was crawling around at the bottom of the glass.

‘Oh, cute, you have a pet,’ I said.

He was already looking pissed as hell and that did nothing to help.

‘We can get it tested for diseases.’ He slammed it down on the desk. ‘You need to clean the wound. Soap should suffice.’

‘I can’t even see the fucking wound.’

He glowered at me for a second then returned back to the bathroom. He came back with a flannel. As he stalked over to me I saw that he was _shaking_.

I lifted up my hair as he stood behind me. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck as he swiped the flannel across my skin.

‘What’s your fucking problem? I’m the one who got used as a walking lunch.’

‘I am not a rapist,’ he growled.

‘Oh, fuck…’

‘You were hysterical. You were screaming at me to help you. That is all I did.’

I glanced back over my shoulder. I could see his jaw working. Like he was chewing on something he didn’t like the taste of.

‘Boo hoo. You scared the shit out of me! Women get raped, Kent, by men they know and trust way more often than by strangers. So don’t expect me to feel bad because I hurt your feelings.’

He stepped away from me. He had his face lowered like he was a naughty schoolboy.

‘Aren’t ya gonna say something?’ I asked.

‘I… I don’t know what to say.’

‘Apologise. Make it up to me.’

Now he looked at me. He looked like Catherine that time she sat on her pet hairless rat. Damn, that thing was ugly.

‘How?’

I sat down on the bed. ‘Say you’re sorry. Get down on your knees. Kiss my damn feet.’

Davison frowned slightly, but that was it.

‘Are ya deaf? I told ya what to do.’

I figured he’d leave. Maybe make some wiseass comment on the way out. I didn’t figure he’d actually walk over and kneel at my feet.

Huh.

Could be interesting.

‘Position suits ya.’

‘I’m glad that you approve.’

He picked up my left foot, lent forward, and kissed my ankle. Then he did the same with my right foot. His hands were warm. His lips were soft and dry, though his beard tickled kinda.

‘There,’ I said, pointing at my calf.

He looked me right in the eye as he did it. I pointed at the other calf. Didn’t have to say anything. Higher up my calves. My knees. Three ascending places on my thighs.

I drew up my nightie. This was it. This was the moment that separated the boys from the men. He was gonna freak and bolt.

He looked me in the eye and the fucker _smiled_.

‘May I?’

‘Knocked yourself out.’

He kissed my inner thighs. The tip of his tongue flicked against my skin. As he moved up, his teeth just grazed my thigh. A tiny, gentle pressure.

‘Harder.’

It was closer to a love bite than the real thing, but the pressure and the tiniest hint of pain were fucking _amazing_.

Then he was there. His tongue mapping me out. The tip circling, dipping, and flicking. The flat lapping and swirling.

He said something. About his hair. Not pulling.

The tip of his tongue flicked across my clit, light and quick. A tease. A test.

Sweet Jesus, the brush of his beard against me. Firmer than a tickle. Gentler than a scratch.

‘Hair, Ma’am, _please_ ,’ he murmured.

‘Fucking pussy,’ I groaned.

‘I am attempting to.’

Moved back to my thighs. Kiss, kiss, bite. Mmm. So good. Other thigh. Bite, bite, kiss. Better.

His fingers gripping my hips. Firm. Strong. He’d pinned me down on the bed like I was a feather. I coulda squirmed and wriggled all day and got nowhere.

His tongue around my clit. Not on. Near. So near. Flick across.

My fingers in his hair. His fingers digging into my hips.

So good, so good…

_Fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuck!_

***

Someone knocked at the door. I lifted Davison’s wrist and looked at his watch.

‘That’ll be the masseuse,’ I said.

He frowned. ‘What?’

‘My massage. Bang on time. So shoo.’

Davison got to his feet. ‘Shoo?’

‘That’s what I said. I guess you can leave your little graphs and shit. I’ll try to look at them when I have a sec.’

He was trying to smooth down his hair. ‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it.’ I walked him to the door. ‘Oh, and take your little parasitic pal with you.’

He looked at the tick in the tumbler, and sighed. ‘Goodnight, Ma’am.’

‘Goodnight, Kent. Keep up the good work.’

 

 

The Jacket

‘Wear the jacket,’ Selina said.

Kent put his hands on his waist. ‘The jacket.’

‘Ya know, _the_ jacket.’ Selina unzipped her dress. ‘Wear it for me.’

‘It’s not a costume.’

Selina shimmied out of her dress. ‘Wear the jacket and I’ll do whatever ya want.’

Kent pursed his lips. ‘I don’t think that you respect it.’

‘If I don’t respect it then why the fuck am I asking you to wear it?’

‘Hmm. Good point.’

‘Thank you.’

Kent unbuttoned his cuffs. ‘You’ll do anything?’

‘Name it.’

‘Wear the boots,’ he said.

Selina smirked. ‘The hooker boots?’

‘So unnecessarily pejorative.’

Selina stretched, knowing he’d follow her movement. ‘I only said _hooker_ ,’ she said, drawing out the word. ‘I never said it was bad.’

Kent put his hands on his hips. ‘The hooker boots.’

‘I’m not putting those boots on,’ she said.

‘Then I’m not putting on my jacket.’

Selina twisted his tie around her finger. ‘I hate the hooker boots. I’ve got some great new pumps.’

Kent slid his hand onto her ass. ‘If you hate them so much why do you keep them?’

She went up on her tiptoes to bite his lower lip. ‘Because my lover – asshole that he is – likes me to wear them.’

‘Your lover thinks you pretend to hate them so that you can tease him.’

Selina sat down and watched him undress. ‘Wear the jacket.’

‘Wear the boots.’ He threw his shirt onto the bed.

Selina slipped out of her underwear and pulled on his shirt. ‘What d’ya think?’

He shook his head. ‘Cute.’

‘Ya say that like it’s a bad thing.’

‘There’s an innate immaturity to cuteness that I find unappealing.’ Kent was down to his boxers. ‘Final word on the boots.’

‘Urgh! Fine. Whatever.’ She stomped across to the closet that she never let Gary near. He didn’t need to see the things she kept in there. She found the boots and yanked them out. They were black leather, crotch high, with skyscraper heels.

She sauntered back to the bed, his shirt swishing around her thighs. Kent had pulled on his biker jacket and was sat on the bed.

‘We look like a bad porno,’ Selina said.

‘You look amazing.’

‘You said that with a straight face.’

Kent parted the shirt and kissed her abdomen. ‘I say everything with a straight face.’

‘Okay, ‘cos you made me wear the hooker boots, you gotta pay a penalty.’

Kent pulled her onto his lap. ‘No.’

‘Hey!’

‘You asked for the jacket.’ Kent’s hand slid onto her breast. ‘You said that you would do anything for it. Then when I made a simple and reasonable request you wriggled, whined, and complained.’

Selina ran her fingers along the teeth of the zipper. ‘What’s wrong with indulging me?’

He kissed the side of her neck. ‘You didn’t ask for indulgence. You asked to trade.’

‘Asshole.’ She tugged his chest hair until he growled. ‘So fucking indulge me wouldya?’

He tweaked her nipple. ‘How?’

‘Eat me out.’

When he raised his face she gave him an angelic smile.

‘You want me to… check your oil?’

‘I want a full service, Spanky, but let’s start with that.’

His lips twitched slightly. ‘I can do that.’

Selina squirmed onto the bed and lay down. ‘Talk biker gang to me.’

‘We’re a club.’ Kent said, sliding a pillow under her butt. ‘We are a club of motorcycle enthusiasts.’

She sniggered. ‘Don’t bullshit me.’

He leant over her. ‘First rule of being an “old lady” in a club.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Never question me.’

Selina grinned as he began kissing his way down her body. ‘Maybe I don’t wanna be your “old lady.” Ya think about that?’

Kent ran his tongue around her belly button. ‘Were you planning on being a big mama? Strutting around in a member’s jacket, picking which prospect to warm your bed.’

Selina slid her fingers into his hair and pushed him further down.

‘Prospects are what… interns?’ she asked.

He laughed dryly at that. A little chuckle that was weirdly sexy, like so much about him. Plus, it made his beard rub against her skin.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ he said. ‘Prospective members. They’re generally young.’

‘Ooh.’ Selina closed her eyes.

‘Physically fit,’ he murmured.

‘Like the sound of that.’ She liked the sound of his breathing. The feel of his mouth on her. The smell of his warm skin mingling with the scent of hers.

She’d seen a photograph of him on his bike. Leather jacket. Jeans. Boots. Helmet. Not smiling. A challenging stare. All the aggression he couldn’t show at work. All the testosterone and swaggering territorial pride.

She’d seen him with bruised knuckles. Just once. Kent Davison, numbers guy, had been in a fist fight. Rough. Belligerent. Ridiculously masculine.

Selina muttered something. Even she didn’t know what.

She heard something rip.

‘I’m not… I’m not done yet,’ she muttered.

His hand was under her knee as he lifted her leg.

‘I’m not done yet,’ she said again.

‘I’m not either,’ he said as he entered her.

It was a smooth, easy movement. Experienced.

Selina drew her nails across his back. ‘Watch my leg. I’m not a fucking cheerleader. I can’t do the splits anymore.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘I can.’

He bit her earlobe. She snickered.

‘Was that ticklish?’ Kent asked.

‘Nah,’ she said. ‘Just the image. Big scary biker doing the splits.’

 

The Oval Office

‘You don’t understand; I need to see her immediately.’

‘You don’t understand; she’s in a meeting.’

Tom James wasn’t a man who was easily intimidated, least of all by a jumped up secretary. He gave Sue a quick, barely-even-trying-to-pretend smile, and reached for the door. ‘I’ll tell her that you protested appropriately.’

He threw open the door and walked in. It was difficult to pretend that he didn’t belong here. He _did_. He could feel it in his bones. The call of destiny was –

‘Oh, fucker!’

Selina was behind her desk, red-faced and guilty-looking as a kid with her hand in a cookie jar.

‘Am I interrupting something, Madam President?’ he asked.

‘I am in a fucking _meeting_!’

Tom looked around the room. ‘With who?’

‘Whom,’ Selina said. ‘Uh, nobody. With myself. Yeah. Time to uh… to clear the old thought process.’

Tom pulled up a chair. ‘Great. I have a few things I wanted to talk to you about.’

Selina glanced down. ‘Carry on.’

‘I mean to,’ Tom said. ‘My sitting down was a clue.’

‘Wasn’t talking to you,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Ya got, hmm, three minutes, Tom. Then we’re done.’

Tom shook his head. ‘That’s not enough time.’

She rang her tongue along her lower lip. ‘It’s all the time you’re getting.’ She shifted position. ‘And it’s more than I can safely spare.’

‘Safely?’

‘Talk or leave!’ she squealed. ‘Those are your only choices.’

***

 The woman was losing what was left of her tiny mind. She had barely paid a lick of attention to Tom, instead squirming and wriggling in her chair.

Tom firmly shut the door behind him. Sue glanced up and frowned slightly.

‘Fuck,’ Ben said. ‘I was hoping you were Kent. Are they nearly done in there?’

Tom adjusted his jacket. ‘What’re you talking about?’

Ben rolled his eyes. ‘Kent. Davison. About this tall. Beard. Skinny. Talks like a robot with a wonky hard drive. He’s been in with POTUS forever. I need to talk to him.’

These people were exactly what Selina deserved. When Tom was POTUS, his team would efficient and capable.

‘Ben, listen to me carefully: Kent is not in the Oval Office.’

‘Tom, listen to _me_ carefully: Kent is very definitely in the Oval Office.’

‘Yes,’ Sue said. ‘He is.’

‘Children, I guarantee you that there is nobody in there.’

Ben pointed past Tom. ‘Then who the fuck is that?’

Tom turned around. Kent was shutting the door behind him.

‘I didn’t see you in there,’ Tom said. ‘Where were you?’

Kent held up his finger. He disappeared into his office and reappeared with a glass of water. He drained it in one long draught.

‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘Dry mouth.’

Ben moved between them. ‘Tom’s selective blindness can wait. C’mon office ninja, I need to talk to you in _my_ office. Try not to melt into the walls or evaporate into thin air.’

They walked away from Tom who called after them. ‘Where were you, hiding under the damn desk?

Kent glanced back. It was only a moment, and it was only a flicker of movement. His right eye. He _winked_ at Tom.

 

The End

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
